


That's Not Me

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: gendrya [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 07:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18734446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: Gendry gets his ass handed to him, and so does Arya.





	That's Not Me

**Author's Note:**

> me during the episode: "gendry noooooooo"

"You did what?"

Gendry hangs his head. "I proposed. Was I not supposed to?"

Sansa's mouth narrows into a line. "No, you weren't supposed to! You were drunk, and you've barely had any time to get to know her for what she's become. And if you ever knew her at all in the first place, you'd know that being lady of some southern castle is her personal definition of hell!"

Her words hang in the air, accusatory, cutting. Gendry stares into space, eyes motionless, chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths.

Moments later, Sansa says softly, "Do you understand?"

Gendry shakes his head, a tear falling down his cheek.

"She didn't want you because you were Robert Baratheon's bastard, she didn't want you because you had a chance of being a lord, she wanted you because she felt safe with you. She felt like you weren't asking her to be something she's not. And then you went and asked her to be that."

Gendry raises his eyes to hers. "How do I fix this?"

Sansa shakes her head. "I don't think you can."

\----------------

"So what made you leave your home, girl?"

Arya sets her tankard down onto the table and wipes her mouth. "Who says something made me leave?"

The Hound grins. "True, you still have names on your list." He takes a swig of ale. "But I'd have wagered you had a reason to stay."

"I might have." Arya's mouth softens for just a second, then opens and closes around a drumstick. "But he wasn't what I thought he was."

The Hound leans forward, dropping a hand onto her shoulder. Arya's not sure if she's more scared or shocked. When he speaks, she can taste the ale on his breath. "Listen, girl. I'm an ugly fucker, and no one has ever loved me enough to tell me, but I know if someone did, I would grab them tight and not let them go."

"You don't understand," she whispers. "You weren't there. He asked me to be something I'm not. He thinks I'm a lady."

"So tell him."

She shakes her head and takes another bite of meat.

The Hound growls. "How do you expect him to know who you are if you don't tell him?"

She gives up. She doesn't say, I did tell him. She doesn't say, He should have remembered.

\----------------

Daenerys is dead. Cersei is dead. Jon sits on the throne, and he's given Winterfell to Sansa and Bear Island to Arya. If he can't be in the North, at least his  ~~sisters~~   ~~cousins~~ sisters will be.

Arya thinks the war is over. She thinks she'll have peace. So when Gendry turns up at her gates, she almost has her guard chase him away. Almost.

"I was drunk" are the first words out of his mouth.

She nods. "You'd just been given a castle. I got drunk, too, the night Jon made me a lord."

He looks at the floor. "Lady Sansa, she -- she took me to task, after. Told me where I went wrong. She said . . ." He takes a breath, deep, gasping, as though he's about to cry. "She said I might not be able to fix it."

"No." Her face is smooth, impassive. Stone. Like one of the faces she wears, before she puts it on, breathes life into it again. She stands, moves toward him. "I told you, Gendry. I'm not a lady."

His breath is coming faster now. "People see you as one whether you say you are or not, and they'll -- "

"They'll what?" She strides past him, spins. "They won't respect me as a warrior? As a ruler? The King of the Seven Kingdoms has given me these lands to rule. He trusts me. He's always trusted me. He's always believed me." Her face has slipped, a little, and she's halfway between pure rage and tears.

He stares at her, at this  ~~girl~~   ~~woman~~ person who, apparently, he's never known, and, after a while, he says, "I have people teaching me how to be a lord."

Her mask is back. "Good. You'll need it."

"Arya -- "

She lifts an eyebrow. "I'm not a lady. I'm not something you need to treat delicately. I've killed more than you have, been hurt in ways you could never imagine. I'm not weak. I'm not your lady, not the lady of your holdfast, not the mother of your children, not the keeper of the keys or supervisor of the kitchens or the linens or anything domestic." She takes a breath, steadies herself. "I know you don't mean it like that, but when you call me a lady, I hear you wanting to protect me, and I've never wanted anyone protecting me. I fight my own battles."

Her eyes hold his as she adds, "I meant what I said. Any woman would be lucky to be your lady. But I'm not any woman."

"Then don't be my lady." He can't let her go, not now, not like this. "Be my lord, and I'll be anything you want me to be, anything, as long as we're family."

"Are you sure?"

He swallows. No, he's not, but he has to try. "Are you?"

She shakes her head. "You'll still want a lady."

"I only wanted a lady because they made me a lord, and because you were born one." He chances a step forward, then another, and then he's in her space, but he won't touch her. He'll let her decide. "I promise I'll never ask you to be a lady again, if you teach me how to be a lord."

When she kisses him, he feels like his heart might actually burst.


End file.
